So I'm Stuck Here?
by Nimoru Darkblood
Summary: A girl falls into Mossflower...but it's not quite what you'd expect. Sarah now has to contend with a vermin horde, freaky woodlanders, and a new mouse body. How will she get out? Will she survive? Mary Sue parody, lots of cursing.
1. Chapter One: Oh my God!

**A/N:** Disclaimer: This all belongs to Brian Jacques. Not me. Understand?

Chapter One: Oh my God!

Sarah woke up, opened her eyes, and looked up into a thicket of brambles.

_Whaaaa…?_

She sat up.

"Oh. My. God," she whimpered. She stared around the woodland clearing in which, implausibly, she sat, instead of her nice comfy bed at home. "MOM! DAD!! WHERE ARE YOU?!" She looked around frantically. What was going on? Had she been kidnapped? This didn't look like any part of the woods around her home, but then again, what kidnapper would linger around the house of the kidnapped? "Oh. My. God." What was the kidnapper planning to do with her? "Oh. My. God." Why had she been kidnapped? What was going ON?! "Oh my God, oh my God, ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod…"

"Okay. Sarah, get a grip on yourself. You were named 'Most likely to stay calm in a situation out of sheer bitchiness' by your brother, weren't you? Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm…" Slowly, she took control of herself and breathed deeply.

She probably hadn't been kidnapped. No kidnapper would be so stupid as to leave her lying out here without making sure she wasn't restrained. Sarah looked around the clearing suspiciously. There didn't seem to be any crazed gunmen in wait. If it wasn't a kidnapping, next worst would be just that she'd gotten lost or become an amnesiac. Sarah racked her brains. Nope, not an amnesiac. And nope, not lost, since she couldn't remember how she could have gotten lost. Her last memory was of lying down to sleep in her bed, all comfy and soft and safe at home. Nothing seemed to have hit her, on the head or otherwise, and she seemed okay. Nothing hurt.

So the third option would simply be that her brother had played yet another one of his "hysterical" pranks on her. Although dumping her out here to freeze her butt off in the damp autumn leaves wasn't his style, and that something involving dead bugs and spray paint and marshmallows was, Sarah firmly convinced herself that this was all the fault of her brother Danny. It wasn't a crazy kidnapper, and it wasn't some sort of weird hostage situation. There was always the chance this could be a dream, but what sort of dream was this real? She sniffed the air. The sharp scent of frost and autumn leaves went up her sinuses and was identified as purely authentic by her brain. Involuntarily, she took a deep breath. This air was somehow much cleaner and fresher than the polluted smog around her house, further enforcing the "Not-a-dream" theory.

Now that she had calmed herself down, Sarah began to take note of her own situation. She wrinkled her nose. Danny had put some weird sort of hair on her face that itched horribly. Ugh. "Danny, you're gonna pay for this," she muttered darkly, and reached up to tug off the gross hair on her face.

"Ow!" Sarah winced. The fur was apparently stuck on with super-strong glue, making it feel like she was trying to pull of her own skin. _Shit._ "Damn you, Danny, and your fucking retarded tricks." If – _when_ – she reached civilization, she would definitely have to get someone to rip off all that fur. "Stupid brothers and their stupid awful tricks," she muttered, and looked down at her hand to see how much hair had come off.

At first glance, it seemed that tons of the fur had been pried off her face, and glued themselves to her hand – but no, she realized, that couldn't happen. Thin, light brown hair grew all over her hand in some sort of freakish mutation. Her fingers were stubbier, and at the end grew thin, short, translucent claws.

"Oh. My. God," she whispered. Frantically, she patted her cheeks, and realized that her face extended forward into some sort of disgusting snout, ending in a small black twitchy nose that was barely visible at the bottom of her vision. Sarah felt her mouth, eyes wide in pure freaked-out fear. Long whiskers grew from what was previously her upper lip and cheeks, arcing around her now-long, tough teeth, and there were – she patted the top sides of her head – _huge round ears?_

"Oh. My. God." Sarah couldn't believe it. All thoughts of nasty little brothers were banished from her mind. Her brain couldn't comprehend this new idea, that she was – she was – a _mouse?!_

"Oh, my God, I'm a fucking _mouse…_" She slapped herself around the head a few times. "Oh. My. God." I can't believe this, her mind screamed, I can't believe this…

Wildly, she looked down at herself. Her entire _body_, as far as she could see, was absolutely coated in the repulsive brown fur, only covered by her purple, teddy-bear patterned pajamas. Her clothes weren't all that comfortable anymore, since a mouse's body, even an anthropomorphic one, is much different from a human's. For some reason she laughed. It was suddenly hysterical. Here she was, a mouse, a _huge_ mouse, and she was wearing purple pajamas. Purple! With the teddy bears, of course. She giggled light-headedly at the sheer absurdity of her situation. Teddy bear pajamas!

Suddenly, her hysterical laughter stopped. Something long, thin and strange was attached to her backside. Slowly, Sarah turned and looked down.

A tail lay flat on the ground behind her. It would have been about a foot and a half long, and an inch or two wide, had she a ruler – but we're not in the twenty-first century's measurements any longer, eh, dearie? her treacherous mind whispered. It, too, was covered in the repulsive fur, but more thinly than her limbs or body. It stuck out from the top of her pajama pants, and Sarah unconsciously tried to pull her pants up. Then she stopped. _What am I thinking? I'm a MOUSE! Why should I be thinking about this?!_ Her mind was spinning. _Oh, God…I'm a MOUSE…a fucking MOUSE…_ Sarah stared at her hands – no, paws – for a moment, then snapped. She screamed at the top of her lungs, stood up, and ran.

Well, tried to.

When you're frightened out of your mind, in extreme mental turmoil, and about to burst from the sheer emotion of it all, you don't normally run with a fixed purpose or destination. You don't normally have very sure footing, either.

So the danger of tripping over rocks/tree roots/fallen branches/logs/slippery grass/slippery leaves/slippery dirt/your own feet/your tail/air was heightened even more by the fact that Sarah, though normally a rather good runner in her human shape, was now staggering everywhere, unaccustomed to her new body. As it was, she managed to make a good five minutes of crashing through the bushes screaming and crying hysterically before she tripped over her own feet – no, footpaws – and fell headlong into a dirt path.

She sat there, crying and sobbing and hiccupping wildly into her paws, when she heard footsteps on the path. Out of the corner of her swollen, reddened eye, Sarah saw two furred footpaws on the path at the edge of her vision. Gradually, she stopped crying, as the creature's weight shifted nervously from paw to paw. Dreading what she would see, Sarah looked up into a whiskered, furry face, thicker, broader, and darker-furred than a mouse. Aghast, she stared, as the figure said nervously, "Excuse me, miss, but are you alright?"

Sarah stared at it for a moment. Her mind couldn't take this anymore. Talking animals, walking on two legs, her turning into a mouse…

"Oh. My. God," she whispered, and passed out.

**A/N:** Sarah's character is based on Sarah Lou, Laburnum Steelfang's term for a Mary-Sue's opposite. I give all the credit for the idea to her.


	2. Chapter Two: Rude Awakenings

**A/N:** Second chapter and all that, I don't own Redwall, yadda yadda. Read on!

Chapter Two: Rude Awakenings

"Mmmph." Sarah shifted position, smiling. She was lying on something nice and soft, with a blanket wrapped around her body, effectively protecting her from the autumn chill. "Mmmrgh." Ahh, the pleasures of waking up late, awake enough to know that you're pleasantly asleep in the pink clouds of dreamland. Slowly, Sarah turned over, and woke up rather abruptly as a large and rather sharp rock jabbed into her ribs. "OWWWW!!" She sat bolt upright, rubbing angrily at her side. "Danny, what did you…oh." Her voice trailed away as she stared at the small forest clearing she sat in, wrapped in a soft cotton blanket. "Oh, my god," Sarah whispered as she remembered what had happened. Tears rushed to her eyes. God, how she longed for her home, her house, her parents and friends and family, even Danny, and her TV and bed and blankets and computer and modern technology and … she winced as an urge suddenly gripped her … indoor plumbing …

Sarah carefully stood up. It was hard to get used to the way her new mouse body worked. Her footpaws were positioned in such a way that she was effectively standing on tiptoe, a balancing act made even more difficult by her clunky tail. It could basically be compared to having your legs twisted, and then having your feet stuffed into tiny, cramped, super-high-heeled shoes, and then having a – well, what could you compare a tail to? – a stocking stuffed with heavy wool grafted to your bottom, and _then_ being shoved forward and told to walk. Well, run. Sarah had been holding in her pee for a day, a night, and possibly several hundred years and a cross-dimensional transfer on top of that, and she really, really needed to go. NOW.

It took her about five minutes to find somewhere private and hidden by enough bushes that she wouldn't be seen, and another two minutes to figure out how mice relieved themselves. So almost ten minutes had passed when she jogged back into the clearing to be met with a shocking sight unlike anything she'd seen before.

The creature from the day before, the one with a wide, dark-furred face, the one that she had met, was sitting on a log next to a merrily blazing fire. Sarah froze. _Oh…my…GOD._ Her mind whirled, and for a moment she involuntarily stepped back. The noise her footpaw made as it cracked on a twig made the otter – because she was sure it was an otter – turn around quickly, then smile in a friendly fashion. Well, "smile" was just what Sarah guessed. It was an _otter_, for godsakes, an _animal!_ They shouldn't be, you know, walking around and talking and grinning! They weren't supposed to wear clothes, like the otter's green fabric jerkin! And people weren't supposed to randomly turn into mice when they fell asleep! _Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…_

"Oh! Hello, miss," it said politely in a way that made Sarah's brain practically cringe. Otters were animals, they weren't supposed to talk! her mind screamed. But here was an otter, an animal, _talking…_ Sarah took another step back. The otter noticed the look of fear on her face, and stood up. "Look, I'm not going to hurt you, miss. You fainted when you saw me, so I brought you back to my camp." It peered closer, making Sarah lean back. "Are you alright?"

Sarah didn't answer, and shook her head in shock. This was…this was…this wasn't supposed to happen! Otters weren't supposed to do this! This isn't _real!_ her brain shrieked. But she knew it was real. Otherwise, how could she explain the smell of the leaves and grass, or the feel of the brambles when they'd torn her skin, or the prick of tears in her eyes as she attempted not to cry, or the taste of bile in her mouth as she struggled not to throw up from sheer shock? _Oh. My. God,_ she thought, and would have fallen over if the otter hadn't grabbed her and supported her shaking body, nearly making her scream from the unnatural feel of tough, sinewy, furry animal arms around her. _God, this…this…this can't be real…_ But it was…but it wasn't…but it was… Her brain reeled, and she almost fainted again. Tears streamed out of her eyes, soaking her facefur. She pushed herself away from the arms of the otter, falling flat on her back on the ground. Sarah scrambled upright, waving her arms wildly, trying to keep her balance. "Stay away from me!" she gasped, trying to restrain the flow of tears. The otter tried to talk to her, lifting its paws in reassurance, but Sarah cut its response off. "Stay _away!_" Frantically, Sarah turned, and ignoring the surprised shout that the otter made, ran into the forest.

Behind her, she could hear the…the…the _freak,_ the _mutant,_ the _creature,_ crashing through the forest behind her, but she ran even faster. Occasionally, she would trip and fall out of sheer clumsiness, but then leap up and tear forward, sobbing for breath.

Finally, she tripped again, over a small dip in the ground, and this time stayed down. Behind her, she heard the paws of the otter thudding on the ground, getting closer, but didn't move. She felt dazed and a little light-headed as she lay on the ground, collapsed. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," Sarah murmured like a mantra, and shut her eyes, basking in the calm darkness, as the otter charged up and knelt beside her. "Are you all right?" he – yes, it was a he, she could tell – asked in a concerned voice. This mousemaid was obviously extremely distressed, and he could tell she was suffering from fatigue and possibly hysterics. He gently patted her face, and when she didn't move, he tugged on her sleeve. "Come, now," he whispered, and hauled her unresisting form over his shoulder. When she didn't scream and try to run away, he took this as a good sign, although inwardly he felt that she was simply to tired to run or resist.

As he carried the exhausted maid back to the camp, he took a closer look at the strange clothes she wore. Her pants and shirt were oddly baggy, and the material was dyed in gaudy colors, with a pattern of odd and unusual pictures. If he squinted at the pattern long enough, it bore a slight resemblance to either a mouse or a fat brown-furred mole, but had strangely circular limbs. The weavework was also incredibly fine, the cloth amazingly soft and clean and smelling of soap. But he found his gaze drifting to the extravagant purple dyeing quite often. It was rather impractical for traveling in Mossflower Forest – too bright, too noticeable, too easily caught on branches or twigs. She must be the daughter of a rich beast, he mused, to afford such beautiful clothing. Perhaps she'd been captured or threatened by the river bandits, and that was why she had such an unusual reaction to him. The otter reflected on this until he reached the clearing, where his father sat, waiting for him.

"Hullo, Father." The younger otter gently set Sarah down on her footpaws, to see if she could walk, and was only slightly surprised when she managed to stand up and wobble a few unsteady steps before sitting down heavily upon the ground. As she buried her face in her paws and quietly started crying, the older otter turned to his son and raised an eyebrow. "Son, why's the mousemaid acting like this?" he murmured to his son.

The otter – Rucko – shook his head and didn't answer. Instead, he carefully walked up to the sobbing maid and tentatively laid a paw on her shoulder. Sarah's head snapped up and she glared at Rucko through red-rimmed eyes. "Get _away_," she snarled, her voice rough and rasping from her throat. Rucko took a hasty step back. He turned to his father beseechingly. _How am I supposed to deal with this?_ his eyes seemed to beg.

Forgus, Rucko's father, shrugged back in answer, and took charge of the situation. Crossing the clearing to the mousemaid's side, he sat down next to her but did not attempt to talk, instead staring ahead, waiting for her to stop crying. When she finally did stop, coming to a shuddering halt after a last few gasping sobs, he quietly edged a little bit closer to her. After a little while, Forgus began to gently talk to the distressed young maid.

"Are you alright?" he asked. Turning around, he caught a glimpse of the mousemaid's expression, and was shocked at the expression of hopelessness that she wore on her face.

"No, I'm fucking _not,_" she growled. Forgus blinked. How old was this maid, to be using such language? He changed his tone. "Look, I'm not out to hurt you. You're safe. There's nothing to be afraid of, and certainly no call to use that language. Could you tell me who you are and where you come from? Are you lost? Are you hurt?" The mouse didn't answer, and just buried her head in her paws again. Forgus sighed in irritation. "Please, at least tell me your name and where you live. It'll make things much easier for us and for you."

For a moment, Sarah didn't answer. Then she sighed, and lifted her head. _Crap, crap, crap. What am I going to tell him?_ She settled for something simple.

"My name's Sarah. I think that's all I can tell you."

"Why?" Forgus tried to press the matter further, but stopped when tears welled up in her eyes again. "I need to know, Sarah."

_Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap._ Sarah groaned inwardly. What would she tell them? If she told the truth and said she was from another world, another place, another time, they would think she was insane. But as she sat there, a plan formed in her mind. She would tell the two otters something false, but something that wouldn't make them think she was crazy. After a few minutes, Sarah had crafted the basic outline of her backstory. She sighed and sat up straighter, and began to tell the two otters her tale.

Listening, Rucko could tell she was hiding something, although she confirmed his original suspicions: she was the daughter of a wealthy merchant, who traveled up and down the river (Sarah didn't know if there was a river around here, but she was willing to guess) and traded at various places. She didn't have any fixed home except for the boat, which was wrecked – Sarah forced herself to cry at this point, which was easy, considering her emotional state – by a group of river bandits. She managed to swim away, and ran. She survived in the woods for several days, eating berries that she managed to find, until she reached the path, where Rucko found her. Sitting back, Sarah watched Rucko and his father as they exchanged looks. She knew they would be suspicious, since she had made the details as vague as possible, and could guess the question they would ask next.

"Who was your father?" Forgus asked.

Sarah kept her head down. She had planned the answer, and took her time answering.

"I…don't know. When the boat was smashed –" _sniffle, Sarah, sniffle,_ she told herself " –something hit me on the head. I forgot a lot of things. I don't know what my father traded, or what places he traded at. I don't even really know how long I was in the forest." _Good. That should do it._

Forgus's eyes flicked towards Rucko, who nodded imperceptibly. They could both see that there was no wound on her head, not even a small scar. They knew she was lying. But why?

Forgus stood up. "Well," he said as kindly as possible, "I suppose the goodbeasts at Redwall Abbey can help you remember your father's name. With any luck, you can at least stay at the Abbey for a while if you can't remember –"

Sarah's head shot up. "What did you say?"

"I said they can help you –"

"No. Before that. About…about Redwall Abbey."

Forgus blinked at the young mousemaid's sudden change. She wasn't crying any longer, just staring at him, breathing heavily, paws clenching. "What do you want to know about Redwall?" he asked confusedly. "It's a wonderful place, lots of kind beasts, and many travelers go there from all over Mossflower –"

_Oh, damn._ Sarah covered her face with her paws again. Why did this have to happen? Why was she stuck in a series of books she hadn't read since she was ten? Of course, she knew about them – her father had bought the first few for her eighth birthday, and she had been captivated by the tales of warrior mice and wicked rats. But she'd grown out of it, like everything else, and the only books she read now, at thirteen, were English assignments! Why was she here? She wasn't even from Britain, for godsakes! She was from _New York City!_ For crying out loud, would someone just tell her what was going on? Tears stung her eyes again, and she began to cry.

Forgus watched uncomfortably as Sarah started to sob again, quietly rocking back and forth on the log. Moving quietly, he doused the fire with pawfuls of dirt, and rolled up the sleeping mats, lashing them to the top of the rucksacks with twine. Hauling the pack on his back, he carefully tapped Sarah on the shoulder. "Sarah," he said gently, "we should go."

For a moment, she didn't respond, but after a few seconds she looked up at him. Her eyes swollen and puffy, she nodded, and took his offered paw as they left the campsite.

And soon, the clearing was silent, save for the sound of birds and the whisper of the wind.

**A/N:** And…yeah. Sorry for the almost total lack of accents. I'm terrible at accents.

I'm trying to make this a bit like Boz4PM's _Don't Panic!_, by the way. Except Mossflower's creatures didn't speak a different language, so that obstacle – at least – is down. But there will be more things for Sarah to overcome…

Mwahahah.


End file.
